Torn Asunder: The Story of the End of the World
by SimonJester479
Summary: Britain is in crisis; the DE and OOTP openly fight in the streets spreading chaos. With the Ministry in tatters under the threat of intervention HP tries to force an endgame with drastic actions. AU with some influence from other genres and rated M for a reason. Eventual HP/DG
1. A Terrible Birth

Torn Asunder: The Story of the End of the World

**AN: Hello all, it certainly has been awhile. I find myself in a set of circumstances that allows me to do some writing but while there are several of my other stories out there still unfinished I don't have the necessary references/inspirations to continue them at the moment. This is my first foray into the world of HP but as I do love the other great works written in this genre I hope that this will give you some small measure of satisfaction. For those of you who aren't familiar with some of my other works be advised that I have a grittier subject matter preference than many are used to and I try to establish a sense of realism to my works. If you are squeamish, underage, uncomfortable with violence, a prude, or just like to whinge please move along. If you have constructive criticism please let me know either through message or comment. Please, enjoy this as a slight distraction from the real world.**

Also I don't own any proprietary characters/concepts/places in this fiction.

Chapter 1: A Terrible Birth

"_Fear is what drives us. Fear of the Muggle. Their world is vast and their arsenals stocked. For thousands of years they've attempted to wipe us out for who we are! We, the heirs of Magic have been hunted and burned! They've imposed their laws on us and they've driven us from our ancestral homes! How long must we be under their thumb? How long must we suffer indignity at their hands? We have seen what they do to themselves in their wars; we have seen what happens when they intervene with our world. They have purged whole lands with fire and steel! Of course we fear them. They have infiltrated our world with poisoned blood. The Mudbloods steal our teachings and pay lip service to our ways but in their hearts they are still Muggles! They have desecrated our traditions and have always been ready to reveal us to their terrible brethren. They flaunt the Statues of Secrecy and gamble with the lives of our children with their scheming underhanded ways. Now they spill blood in the streets demanding more from us. They clamour for the end of our ways of life, for the end of our culture, and the end of Magic itself!"_

_-Lucius Malfoy, Speech before the Wizengamot, 2000_

In the ruins of a once great and vibrant castle a pair of figures stand underneath crumbling stone arches their features masked by the shadows cast by moonlight. They stand before what had once been a courtyard; the grass has grown wild and free, a thick matting of life in what is now dead. The stonework of the walls is pocketed with holes, some big and some small. Ivy festers in these wounds spreading decay along the once majestic structure. Small piles of marble lay scattered about the clearing, some still bearing the intricate carvings that once adorned them but most lay only as rubble strewn about by a storm. The ruins seem to swallow the light of the moon.

One figure turns to the other.

"Are you sure you wish to proceed in this?" While framed as a question the speaker already knows the outcome of the response. The moon and the night merely highlight the ethereal qualities of the speaker's voice. As if the words weren't only meant to be heard with one's ears, or at least human ones.

"You know that I must. This war has gone on for too long and it must end." This voice speaks with a tone of desperation, of suffering. The deeper sound of the voice echoes with the memories of screams and pain; of fire and blood. The fevered pitch of one who was both resigned to fate yet struggling against it.

"Alright. Take your place in the center. Where the old statue of the Lady once stood." Without a further word they both stride into the clearing. The first figure waits until the second has reached the cracked marble pedestal where once the Lady of Knowledge once gazed about holding her silent vigil. Upon reaching the pedestal the second figure stands up on it and turns around to gaze back at the first.

"Remove your clothes."

With only the slightest hesitation the figure on the pedestal starts to disrobe. First to be cast on the marble and to spill on the ground was a fine cloak woven from Unicorn hair and dyed a deep blue from soaking in the poison of a Chimera. As the hood falls off the moonlight seemed to be devoured by the mess of ravens black hair which framed the weathered skin of the man that stands there. His green eyes burn with fire in the night and the moonlight illuminated the pale scar that runs jagged down his forehead. As he pulls off his vest the glisten of dragon scales make their presence known to the world. Taught muscles ripple as they are exposed to the night's chill as his tunic falls to the ground, the runes in the fabric flaring brightly in the moonlight. Boots of supple Centaur leather fall in place neatly with black Acromentula silk trousers. His belt falls to the grass; a slight clinking of glass and metal comes from the pouches along its length. Laid on top of the pile is a small wand of holly.

The naked man stands there in the moonlight warmed only with the inner fires of determination and desperation. The chill of the night seems to deepen; frost nipping across his weathered and scarred skin despite it being summer. His chest is a latticework of scars; his arms and hands show the lingering kiss of heat and flame. While not massive his muscles are toned and defined; a testament to years of use. To his chagrin the chill affects his body in other ways as his wedding tackle tries to shrink into his body.

The first figure stares admiring the fine specimen of man as an artist does a sculpture; or how a lion does to a gazelle. In the chill of the night thin and pale fingers reach up to undo the figure's cloak's wooden clasp. As the dark green fabric falls away the courtyard seems to shudder at the smooth and pale skin of the woman standing there. Her pale blonde hair falling down behind her in disarray, the tips of her hair woven with stones, beads, and shards of glass reaching down to her waist; her otherworldly eyes of the palest blue glittering in the night with an alien intensity. The loss of her cloak revealing a thin and lithe body covered with a simple white dress of homespun wool; when this dress falls away it reveals the woman underneath.

Her limbs seem long for her lithe body yet it suits her; pale scars climb like a maze up and down her arms. Pale flesh in the moonlight that seems to embrace the moon and reflect it back out for the world to enjoy. Her small pink nipples and areolas are hard in the night chill tipping her small breasts. Her stomach is adorned with concentric circles of green and black tattoos interwoven with hints of blue and red. As she breathes the colours seem to ripple and dance underneath her skin with a life of their own.

As she starts to pace around the courtyard she chants in an eldritch tongue its meaning and tone an unfathomable mystery to the man. He can plainly see her petite femininity and while he has wondered about her body for years, for he is after all a male, his eyes are not focused on the swell of her breasts, the roll of her hips, or the mound of her sex.

His brilliant green eyes are focused on the harsh reflection of the obsidian dagger in her hand.

Pass after pass she makes around the courtyard in a circle around the pedestal moving ever closer. The moonlight gathers around her and is molded into form by the magic of her words. The moonlight descends upon the grass in her wake with barely contained power. Green life is enveloped with incinerated without emotion and turned into the roiling cacostratum of raw magic bent to the will of the piteous powers at this woman's beck and call.

Every so often the woman drags the edge of the blade over her arms, her stomach, or her neck. Even in the night the man can see the drops of crimson adorning her like a gown of rubies. As she cuts herself her cries to the wild night are not ones of pain, but ones of ecstasy. She's now close to the pedestal making the final circuit. The man can hear the pants and moans beneath the chant of her voice. Finally she stands before him in the moonlight. Her lifeblood slowly tracing its way over her skin. Her breasts are highlighted and her nipples brightened by claret, her legs are traced by streams of red tears which seem to come weeping from the tattoo on her stomach. Her fingers are slick with her brilliant red blood. She walks towards him, her hips swaying in the manner which brings men to their knees begging and her eyes glistening with the magic of the night and the lust of her body; her sex is swollen with desire. She takes one bloodstained finger and puts it between her lips, in one smooth and sensual motion she sucks the blood off of it. Her eyes never leave his.

Despite his horror he feels himself start to respond to the sheer sensuality of the bloodstained woman before him. The fires in his loins at odds with the frost climbing up his legs; the blissful agony peaks in his mind and paralyzes his senses. This is beyond any of his wildest and most depraved dreams and his breath turns ragged and husky as his desire mounts.

Finally she stands in front of him, their naked bodies' mere inches apart from each other. She can feel the heat of his breath as the frost begins to creep up from the ground and cover the soles of her feet. He can feel… nothing. While he can see that her breathing is as ragged and intense as his he can feel nothing from it. No heat, no wind, no sound. He gazes into the deep pools of her eyes completely entranced by the terrible beauty of her being.

The moment seems to go on forever until she says something that he recognizes but doesn't quite break the spell of his enthrallment.

"Happy Birthday Harry."

With those words she kisses him deeply her blood and saliva mixing over his tongue as she bends his mouth down to hers.

With those words, her blood soaked skin pressed against his own, her nipples tiny nubs against his chest.

With those words, she fells his sex rigid against her stomach.

And with those words Luna Lovegood moves with inhuman speed and plunges a blood soaked obsidian dagger deep into the chest of Harry Potter. As he gasps in agony and surprise she exhales a shudder of emotion as her orgasm crashes over her burning away the chill of the night.

As she wrenches the dagger from his chest Harry falls forward onto his knees nearly knocking her over in the process. As his hands cover up the wound he can feel the slight trickle of blood leaking through his fingers. He can feel the pierced muscle of his heart and feels that the trickle is turning into a stream. His eyes still locked with hers with a look of uncomprehending betrayal as his enthrallment is broken in the most hideous of manners. Suddenly he gasps out in shock and Harry's eyes widen as a surge pain and energy shoots through his body; his gaze is wrenched from the pale blue orbs above him to the glowing sphere of magic before him.

Harry feels his vision fading, the thrumming of his heart the only thing he can hear. He sees the ball of energy slowly making its way towards him; the light is all that he can see.

Luna stands over him, beckoning to the ball with her hands; her chant is sung quickly now and with a twinge of desperation. The slightest inkling of doubt enters her thoughts; making her wonder what will happen if she can't draw the power in to Harry in time? Her chanted words get more guttural and harsh as she puts more effort and magic into the spell.

"The damn thing isn't moving fast enough," the thought races through her mind; "Harry is fading too fast and that the ritual is taking too long!"

She rails against the night and her eyes grow wide in panic. A sudden burst of inspiration hits her and she twists her right hand up and traces one of the sigils of power that her mother taught her before she died. As her fingers move through the air they draw lines of emptiness in their wake. The sigil complete and it begins to pulse in time with Luna's heart.

As the sigil begins to pulse with a quiver of power the blindingly bright sphere of magic lurches forward in time to the beat. It crawls toward the sigil and the stream of blood now spilling out on the ground from Harry's chest. With each beat it shudders and inches closer and closer.

"Almost there," she thought "just a few more seconds Harry, just hold on for a few more seconds!"

As Luna's heart beats louder and louder reflecting her urgency the sigil pulses brighter and brighter. Suddenly the sphere quivers and breaks apart into glowing shards of magic.

"NOOOOO!" she shrieks but it is too late.

Only a tiny sliver of energy jumps out and into the wound in Harry's chest; the rest leaps up into the pulsing sigil and melds with its otherworldly magic. The sigil crackles and splits, red light spilling forth from the wound rent in the air.

Luna yanks Harry back but trips on his discarded cloak in her blind panic. She falls to the ground her feet tangling in his clothes and he unceremoniously falls prostrate on top of her pinning her down. She thinks that at any other time such an occurrence would be a cause to celebrate but right now it is a problem as her ritual has taken an unexpected turn. As she looks up in a mixture of amazement and horror the gash in the air flares brightly and then disappears as if it were never in existence.

On the pedestal lays a man dressed in a bleached woolen tunic and brown woolen trousers. As Luna crawls out from underneath Harry she notices that the man clutches a leather sack in his left hand and a staff about five feet in length in his right. The man's eyes are rolled up in his head and it is obvious that he was is not conscious. His breath escapes fast and shallow and soft moans escape his lips; the murmurs of a madman.

As she stands up overlooking the sight she can't help but wonder what to do. The ritual worked perfectly up until the very end. Harry lay bleeding and unconscious. And there was a new player in the game.

Luna looks up towards the sky, her skin smooth and clean without a trace of blood and bathed in moonlight and wonders what the Powers have sent her this time.


	2. Harmonious Discord

Torn Asunder: The Story of the End of the World

Chapter 2- Harmonious Discord

"_Britain Awaken! Do you not feel the yoke of tyranny weighs heavily on your neck forcing you to bow down to the self-proclaimed masters of our world? Do you not see what the Aristocrats and Purebloods are doing conspiring against you and your children? Do you not see the chains they have placed on you? Why does one wizard have to bow and scrape to another simply because one claims a title? By what right do they claim supremacy? That twisted nest of incest and hatred stamps down on the neck of natural born wizards and strips us of our rights! While the nobles consort with their own sisters they allow their twisted offspring to violate and torture us and have the gall to claim that it is the natural state of things. No more. Join us brothers and sisters as we strike down our oppressors and tear down their twisted mockery of government. No longer will the unelected elites dictate from on high and commit crimes with impunity. These sires of abomination and injustice will be swept clean and destroyed to never again plague the true inheritors of Wizarding Britain. Join us Britain and wake from your slumber! You have nothing to lose but your chains!" _

_-Freedom Society pamphlet, found nailed into the corpse of Marcus Flint outside of the Ministry of Magic, 1 January 1998_

Once upon a time this ornate room of hand carved oak and polished brass was a temple to both power and the will to use it. The greatest minds of a nation came together to carve out a future for their people and they achieved great things.

Now the chamber is an abscess in the sphincter of good governance.

Where the greatest of the Aristocracy and Magistocracy of Wizarding Britain once sat mulled over the affairs of running one of the most powerful of Magical States now is filled with bitter vitriol and caustic discord. Now the great houses keep one step short of drawing wands and steel as they berate each other in public and threaten each other in private. The Magistars, now less in number than in the past and even lesser in wisdom, urge on their factions with fire and demagoguery in the fashion familiar to any soap box heckler.

On one side of the hallowed hall stand the self-appointed champions of righteousness. Defenders of all that is good and right with the Wizarding World filled with enlightenment and charity. They agitate out of a sense of duty to the civilization they hold dear.

On the other clamor the rabble rousing fear-mongers raising the alarms against their enemies. This collection of Lords beat the drums of war unceasingly to warn their peers of the dangers that straying from the correct path will bring.

Crowded around the central dais of carved marble and studded with sapphires stand the old guard. The steadfastness of this crowd is a glass bulwark against the storm raging around them. Woe betides the wind and waves but God forbid the casting of a single pebble.

Scattered about the rest of the chamber are the prizes being fought over. Non-aligned court the factions about them; they flit about like moths around flames negotiating as much gain as they can before pledging temporary understanding. A mercenary attitude with Faustian consequences.

The members of the high and lower nobility with their Ladies and Magistars adorned in the finest fabrics and jewels that money can buy strutted about like so many peacocks. Ermine skins and Persian silks are treated with the finest of Parisian perfumes and stained with the bouquet of Spanish wines. The riches of ancient lines gild the social discourse and lend a carnival air to the proceedings.

As Magistar Amelia Bones looks on from her position at the dais she admires the roiling sea of silk and gems before her and comes to a singular conclusion.

If you polish a turd it is still a turd.

As she wearily gazes out over the arguing throng she laments over the long and bitter years that have led to the tiresome burden of her being named the Chief Warlock of the British Wizengamot.  
"Order!" she shouts out to the crowd, "I bring this conclave to order!"

As the various debates and conversations quiet down she loathes the politics and maneuvering required of her position. As head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement she had exercised incredible authority and power; her world revolved around the enforcement of the Law and it was a tireless and meaningful career. But as the storm clouds of disorder gathered and the Fudge cabinet began to fall she was made into the scapegoat and forced out of her former job; taking the blame for the opening battles of a civil war.

When rumors of the He Who Must Not Be Named resurrection began to make the headlines after the disastrous Tri-Wizard Tournament she had not taken them seriously. All they had to work off of was the word of one traumatized teenager and a corpse whose body had been contaminated by exposure to too much magical energy by the time the Aurors could examine it to determine what the cause of death was. The words of Albus Dumbledore did not make the situation any clearer; his claims that the Dark Lord had returned had no evidence, the events around the tournament could have plausibly been attributed to former Death Eaters but nothing in it suggested the return of He Who Must Not Be Named.

The assault upon the Ministry the next year however was a turning point. Now the DMLE had a target and the Ministry had an enemy to mobilize against. Unfortunately she hadn't recognized the problem that Dumbledore's militia, the Order of the Phoenix, had posed and had made no precautions to either legitimize it or suppress it. As Death Eater's began spreading their influence Order fighters began a series of raids trying to curb their presence. These raids were notable for the carnage that they caused and the destruction of property and were easily hushed up, made to look like sanctioned actions, or spun as citizens defending against Death Eater Attacks. At least until they massacred a patrol of Aurors.

Amelia Bones' eyes narrow at the memory which led to the start of the Panic. Four Aurors responding to reports of a burglary outside of Stratford upon Avon arrived outside the small country estate of the Wilksbury clan and chased off a sneak thief trying to breach the wards. As soon as the thief began to run a group of cloaked wizards apparated in and immediately opened fire on the thief catching one Auror with a stunner. Returning fire the Aurors were soon caught up in a running battle with their attackers and the deadliness of the spells kept increasing. At the end of the day the only survivor was the Auror that was stunned at the beginning of the fight. Reinforcements arrived at the end to drive off the attackers, killing one of them in the process with a lucky blasting curse to the stomach.

The attacker was subsequently identified as one Kingsley Shacklebolt.

The news devastated the public. At first it was speculated that Shacklebolt was moonlighting as a Death Eater but soon word leaked out that he had no Dark Mark and was noted as being a staunch supporter of Albus Dumbledore. As speculation rose, his Auror file was leaked to the media and the fact that he was rated as being: "Exceptionally resistant to mental attacks in particular the _Imperious_ curse." turned the whole world upside down.

Suddenly the _Daily Prophet_ was full of editorials wondering how such a decorated Auror could betray his office in such a manner. The entire Auror Corps was put under a full scale investigation looking for links to outside organizations that could compromise their positions as enforcers of the law. Soon dozens Aurors including the rising star Nymphadora Tonks were found having links to either the Order of the Phoenix, the Death Eaters, or to criminal enterprises. This crisis of confidence resulted in the declaration that the Aurors would suppress all vigilante militias and criminal organizations and the ranks of the DMLE were purged with ruthless efficiency; within months almost half of the Corps was purged. Amelia had presided over the investigation and upon its completion Minister Fudge handed over her resignation for her signature. The Minister publicly declared that her reason was shame over her failure in allowing a culture of corruption to infect the Corps.

She was actually quietly thankful to not be head of the DMLE after the events following the purge. The neutered Auror Corps barely had the manpower to patrol the main population centers which meant that large tracts of land and thousands of witches and wizards were left without protection. Into the void formed a whole manner of "self-defense associations" supported by local communities and noble families and staffed by a sordid mix of commoners, ex-aurors, mercenaries, and often petty thieves. When Aurors tried to move into the territories of these militias they were often met with sullen resistance and on several occasions open violence as the people began to blame the ministry for failing to protect them. The final death knell of the Fudge administration, and indeed Dumbledore's political clout, was the razing of Hogwarts.

The Order had begun to be exceedingly heavy handed with its raids against suspected Death Eaters and their supporters. There were many rumors in the countryside of the Order pillaging and burning the property of pureblood wizards simply because they were feared to be supporting the Death Eaters or had potential to be recruited by them based off of their blood status. On Boxing Day 1997 after a Christmas Day raid by the Order that resulted in the burning of three pureblood estates and the assault of several pureblood families in the Midlands riots broke out in Diagon alley which had to be forcibly suppressed by the Aurors. Pureblood gangs retaliated with the public beatings and sexual assault of two muggleborn witches in Hogsmeade; this was shortly followed by a slew of assassinations of prominent pureblood ministry officials by muggleborn vigilantes. By New Years the whole of Wizarding Britain was in upheaval with riots against vigilante violence, Death Eater intimidation, Ministry corruption, and the failure of the Auror Corps. On 3 January 1998 a mob had entered Hogwarts demanding that Albus Dumbledore end the violence that his secret society was causing. When he denied that they were doing anything wrong the mob went wild and began to riot in the Great Hall. While there were no deaths and only a handful of casualties the damage caused to the castle itself was extensive as whole wings were consumed in fire as the mob reveled in the release of their fear and frustration. It was all that Dumbledore could do to protect the students staying there over the break and to evacuate in face of the mob.

Amelia thought grimly that it was that moment that sparked the true crisis that the Ministry now faced. When news that Hogwarts was burned spread the whole country seemed to go mad. The Saint's schools that educated the majority of the wizarding population turned into garrisoned camps where entire families moved in order to protect their children while they got an education. The centaur and giant tribes in Scotland and Wales completely severed ties with the ministry and began to "reclaim" old tribal lands sparking retaliatory violence by local militias. It would take over a month before the riots burned themselves out but by then the damage was done.

With both Dumbledore and Fudge disgraced the entire government became a prize to be fought over. While Dumbledore maintained his position in the Wizengamot due to his status as a Magistar and held onto some measure of power Fudge did not and the spiteful bastard disemboweled the government as he was forced out. Even now, three years after the Panic huge swaths of the country were not patrolled by Aurors and the various departments in the Ministry were at a bureaucratic deadlock as the great families squabbled over power in the Wizengamot. The only department that seemed to work was the Obliviators who were being overtaxed as it was trying to keep the Muggles in the dark; it was the only thing that all of the factions could agree on and even then it was a difficult thing getting them to admit it.

It seemed that the Ministry of Magic was only the nominal government of the land with true power residing in the local lords who promised to protect their people against the chaos around them. Wizarding Britain never quite developed into a nation like their Muggle neighbors did which meant that when a major crisis hit the Ministry things would go pear-shaped all too easily. This wasn't the first time in the Ministry's history that it had basically fallen apart and unless things changed it wouldn't be the last.

She gritted her teeth and imperceptibly glared behind her monocle as she thought on how she was brought back in by the Wizengamot, a dozen high lords and ladies begging for her to come in and restore order after the twin powers of Fudge and Dumbledore fell into disgrace. Her promise of Unity and Order allowed her to sweep the electable seats of the Wizengamot and to secure enough support from the permanent seats to re-form the government with Baron Henry Smith as the minister of Magic, himself notable by his absence at today's session, and herself as the Chief Warlock. While it was conceivable that she could have seized power for herself it was easier for her to take over as Chief Warlock as the Bones family was an ancient line with a recognized supremacy in the Magistocracy without the noble title needed to truly hold the Minister's office.

"My Lords and Ladies we-"suddenly, and as always, she was interrupted.

"We must purge our society of the muggleborn scum murdering their way across Britian!" screamed Thegn Theodore Erskine the most outspoken member of the Sorcerer's League, a staunchly traditionalist faction which openly advocated accommodation with the Death Eaters. The fact that many suspected Death Eaters were members led many to speculate that it was the political wing of He Who Must Not Be Named attempt to seize control.

Predictably this outburst gathered the roars of approval from the rest of the Sorcerer's League and catcalls and outrage from the rest of the chamber.

"Thegn Erskine would have us do He Who Must Not Be Named's dirty work for him and kill muggleborns! Tell me Thegn, will you next set up a tattoo parlor in Diagon Alley and make the Dark Mark your daily special?" This particular cat-call came from Baron Simpson Wood, a noted confidant of Dumbledore and venomous in his calls to swiftly punish the Death Eaters.

"I would have us focus our efforts against the enemy that truly matters. The Death Eaters are merely a rash on the skin and can easily be dealt with. The mudbloods are a disease of the heart and must be dealt with!" This comment came from Baron Alexander Grey.

"None of these problems can be dealt with until we expand the Auror Corps! I move that the Ministry increase the funding of the DMLE so that they can properly deal with these disorders!" This particular jolt of naiveté came from one of Bones' own supporters, Earl Augustus Rivers. A decent law abiding man whose contribution to her faction did not include either his intelligence or his oratory.

"Seconded!" yelled Lord Lucius Malfoy, "I also propose that these funds come through increased taxes on cheap muggle imports which undercut good honest wizard businesses." Amelia still was amazed to see that he was still out of either jail or a graveyard given his years of suspected Dark tendencies.

"I propose that the money be raised by seizing the property of Death Eater suspects!"

"You would pervert the laws to strip innocent men of what is rightfully theirs?"

The debate merely went downhill from there. By the end of the session the Wizengamot had agreed on absolutely nothing while racking up at least three different attempts by members to draw wands and curse each other. Sadly this was one of the better sessions as the average over the past year had been four attempts and at least one actual cast spell.

Amelia lamented over the factions that had carved up the government, squabbling over it like little children while whole counties in Wizarding Britain no longer were effectively under Ministry control. The Sorcerer's League was full of Death Eaters and hide-bound traditionalists, Dumbledore's cronies were zealots out to bring their silent leader back into power and push their own utopian agenda, her own faction was a pack of simpletons and corrupt bureaucrats, while the non-aligned seats prostituted themselves to the highest bidders with the exception for the five elected members of the Wizengamot who were out and out muggleborn supremacists who annoyed, and occasionally threatened, everyone else.

This was the state of Wizarding Britain in the summer of 2001 and it was all Magistar Amelia Bones, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, and the Dowager Lady of Clan Bones could do to not weep tears of fury and bitterness. With the government in disarray, lawlessness the norm, and hope fading amongst the populace Amelia feared that she would be presiding over the last days of a dying nation.

**AN: This chapter is sadly lacking in action however it does serve to highlight the current state of affairs and how things have changed since Book 5 where this universe ultimately splits from canon. Some of the titles that I use may confuse you but I'm working under the idea that the titles of the nobility are split between old Norse and French lines depending on when the family came to Britain. Also the Magistocracy may seem a little odd for most of you but I picture it as a blend between the positions of the historical church hierarchy, which did hold positions in the historical Witengamots of England, and magic. There are simply not enough wizards in England for the all to have noble titles as these are tied to land rights and ultimately the British Monarchy which has plenty of other candidates to name as peers of the realm. Therefore I imagine positions in society in which magically powerful families can inherit the distinction of being magically powerful and of a higher social distinction than the majority of other families but with different rights and responsibilities compared to the landed nobility, much like the historical clergy and other religious positions in older societies (Shamans, Wisemen, etc.) Some of you may be confused why this fic's Wizard government seems to be distinctly non-democratic (only five elected seats) and I base this on the fact that if seats are inherited by noble families then what place does democracy have? The Wizarding World is very different from the Muggle World in terms of both culture and history; simply grafting ideas of parliamentary democracy from 20****th**** Century Britain and throwing in wands simply does not make sense. The next chapter will be considerably more intensive than the past two have been so please stay tuned.**


	3. Don't Ask

Don't Ask

**AN: Standard disclaimer on ownership and copyright infringement. **

"_We must be prepared for a long war. We must be prepared for a long struggle. This time the agents of Darkness will not fight as they did in the last war. We must be prepared to carry the banner of Light to lands far away from home and surrounded by enemies. We must be ready to fight them in the courts of law and the halls of the ministry as they try to subvert our nation. For ours is a struggle in which we are in the right, we are the good to counter the evil. We must be ready to do what is necessary for the Greater Good." -Albus Dumbledore, Diary entry, August 25, 1996_

As darkness falls on the Emerald Isle the small wizarding community of the Twelve Pins settles down in the warm August night. With the coming darkness the men return from their ranges with that day's harvest and their families welcome them with joy as they trudge through the warded palisade that surrounds the community carrying canvass sacks filled with the fruits of their labors.

The collections of plants and herbs is carefully sorted and catalouged; the preparation of potions ingredients is never something to be done in haste as cross contamination of magical herbs and fungi could often have undesirable side effects. While the civil war in Wizarding Britain had increased the demand of potions ingredients the increase of prices for food and other commodities had increased even more. The community could not afford to waste anything or risk a reputation for spoiled produce.

"Mary, take this batch of Morgana's tears to Patrick Lewylin. Tell him that it should pay off this year's rent to our Lord if he can get us a good price in O'Malley square. Make haste because the Lord's collector should be here in the next two weeks and we must make sure we have enough in the village coffers."

Mayor Sean Daley passed his eldest daughter the sack filled with the precious flowers. Her smile lit up her comely face while a slight blush burnished her ivory face as the thought of speaking to Patrick raced through her mind. With only a muttered "Yes Father." she hurried off into the twilight.

Mayor Daley smiled under his beard. He mused that it was high time for his 15 year old daughter to start looking for a husband. She was a shining light of womanhood, small petite, with willowy hair the colour of almonds; her youth and vitality were an almost painful reminder of her mother who had passed away the year before. As she ran off her simple blue cotton dress with a white rose sewn over her heart rippled in the air.

"Young Patrick is in need of a wife. He is too hard working to have to keep a home by himself and a man of 19 needs to set down roots in the community." He mutters to himself.

As he wanders through the store house taking account of this seasons harvest he marks down the count in his ledgers. It is a thankless job taking in the accounts and distributing the funds that the town raised in the markets. He thanked the Gods that Twelve Pins had such a fine bounty of magical herbs because that fact alone let the small village survive in these troubled times. Making his way from barrel to barrel filled with crushed roots, diced herbs, flower petals, and glowing seeds he waves his wand checking to make sure the preservation charms were still in order and that the count in the barrel added up to the ledger. He'd occasionally have to duck as he passed under the clusters of garlic and peppers hung up in the rafters. The local gardens provided these more mundane herbs as their value in potions making was often overlooked by wealthy potions masters who didn't quite realize that they could easily grow these plants by themselves. But as the Mayor had a rule that it was a sin for morons to keep their money the local children pitched in to help rid the world of that sin.

The heady aromas of diced Frogspawn roots mixed with the spicy tinge of garlic as he worked his way through the dark but airy store room. The town would do well this season and there would be enough in this year's coffers to allow them to send off one of the children to the Beauxbatons Academy to have a proper education…

He sighed ruefully as he checked a bottle full of clover juice. When the damned English went mad and burned down Hogwarts it cut short the dreams of a dozen of the village's families. Hogwarts tuition was much cheaper than the French Academy but since it was no longer an option sacrifices had to be made; the beneficence of their Lord providing money to help train herbologists and potions masters at the great schools could only stretch so far. The local Saints Schools in Ireland were already overwhelmed with carpet-baggers from England and Scotland; forcing the locals to fend for themselves relying increasingly on home schooling and tutors.

Suddenly he jerked his head up. The roar of the wards filled the night with an electric buzz and the stench of ozone overpowered even the distilled bubotuber pus lining the wall. The yells of alarm started to filter through the wooden walls of the storehouse and Mayor Daley furrowed his brow in concern as he put down his carefully annotated ledger and ran out into the village commons his ten-inch holly and leprechaun wand brandished in his hand.

He ran out just in time to witness the wards cascade in a purple flare of energy; the ancient oaken palisade which had guarded the village for centuries was suddenly split open and in poured a group of three dozen black clad individuals. As the villagers gathered to repel the brigands they were struck down by the red and orange glow of the invaders spell work. Mayor Daley ran forward inarticulate and bellowing in rage as he saw boys as young as 6 and women as old as 80 fall as bolts of magic shot forward in the night. He noticed how the brigands moved as a unit, covering each other as they advanced and secured buildings. He saw how one group of four would surround a building while another group would kick down the door and rush in. He raised his wand to curse one of the watchers as he saw them strike down a child who ran screaming from the house.

As he began to cast a dark shape moved in front of him and soundlessly cast a purple sphere towards him. Daley let his spell fizzle as he turned to meet his opponent conjuring a quick shield which diffused the sphere's energy. What struck him first was the size of the man before him. While the night and black clothing obscured the man's features Daley could tell that he was squaring off against a man almost two meters tall and broad at the shoulders easily weighing 15 stone. Despite his size he moved with an elegant, if brutal, grace as his wand snapped out over and over sending soundless bursts of crimson light towards him.

Daley in contrast was a stout man at least 10 cm shorter and well past his prime, his simple green and brown robes soon were stained with sweat and dirt as he manically fought off his attacker; each shield he cast slightly weaker than the last. His attacker was completely silent save for the swish of his coat and the light thump of his boots in the soft earth as they danced around each other and it soon became apparent to Daley that his adversary was toying with him like a cat does to a mouse moving closer with every spell cast until they were less than two meters apart.

As Daley desperately tried to strike out with a piercing curse his adversary suddenly dropped and rolled forward towards him causing Daley's curse to fly high over his target. Before he could adjust his aim the dark man launched himself up and struck Daley in the stomach with his fist. The blow felt like he had been hit with a blacksmith's hammer and Daley quickly doubled up; his breath wheezing out of his body and tears welling up in his eyes as his lungs burned for air. He didn't even notice the red beam strike him in his back.

The next thing Mayor Daley knew was that he was tied to a stake conjured in the ground at the center of the village. The villagers were huddled together in a tight pack with the adults trying to comfort their children as they sat there trembling under the wands of their attackers. Small orbs of light hovered around the huddled mass and Daley could see the dim outline of black figures standing watch over the crying group.

"Mayor Daley you and your village stand accused of active support to the Death Eaters of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. How do you plead?"

Mayor Daley shook the cobwebs from his mind as he looked up and saw the monolithic figure of the man who defeated him. By the way that he spoke with complete dispassion and the aura that he seemed to give off Mayor Daley took him to be the group's leader.

"Who are you?"

At this the man swung his fist and backhanded the Mayor. Daley briefly saw stars and felt that one or two teeth had come loose with his tongue. In the crowd of villagers he heard a stifled cry.

"How do you plead you conniving snake?" This time the words held an undercurrent of steel and ice.

"I don't know what you're talking about. We're just simple villagers who sell magical herbs and plants!" His plea was met with another slap across the face. This time them man spoke in a deathly whisper:

"How… do…you…plead?"

"We're not guilty of anything!" With this Daley involuntarily flinched as he expected another blow. A blow that never came.

"Do you know Margrave Cyrus Septimus Greengrass?"

"Of course, he is our liege lord."

"And you consider yourself faithful to your liege lord?"

"We pay our rent on time if that is what you mean." The Mayor shrugged at this as many of the old duties tenants owed their lord were no longer recognized; the last time a Margrave of Greengrass had conscripted villagers from Twelve Pins for corvee labour King Henry VIII was knocking up and knocking off his wives. Everyone knew that if a tenant didn't pay rent to his liege lord then that lord would most likely do something nasty and in short order but other than that relations were often very simple. Margrave Greengrass was noted for being exceptionally harsh on delinquent tenants yet had been unusually generous since the war broke out by reducing rents and fulfilling his lordly obligations.

"Hmmmmm." The man seemed to be in thought as me moved slightly away and paced before Mayor Daley.

"You claim to be innocent of supporting the Death Eaters but you tell me that you pay rent to your liege lord. Interesting."

"What do you mean? The Margrave is no Death Eater that I know of. He's been neutral in this war and the last one." These words betrayed the fear in Daley's heart. Even in this remote corner of western Ireland they had heard about the chaos that had descended in Britain and the fighting that took place. Ireland had escaped most of the chaos since traditionally the Ministry had only a light presence on the Emerald Isle as the magical nobility had exercised their power judiciously to maintain the loyalty of their tenants due to the unusual amount of magical flora and fauna on the island. Unlike their Muggle brethren the Irish magical community maintained strong ties to the British nobility and was still under the auspices of the British Ministry.

Mayor Daley had also heard rumors that wizard communities outside of Britain had suffered from the civil war with refugees and even reprisals by the major factions still in Britain. He feared that his village in Ireland had been given the dubious honor of being the first spillover raid into Ireland.

"Margrave Greengrass is a Slytherin from a long line of Slytherins! His rancid spawn are Syltherins! And he has refused to fight against the Darkness. This means that he is a supporter of the Dark at a minimum if not a marked Death Eater. And you support him knowing this. That means that you are guilty."

The man spoke with an almost religious conviction; waves of hate flowed off of him every time he spat out the word "Slytherin." Mayor Daley thought in horror at the absurdity of this statement. Everyone knew about the four great houses of Hogwarts and the fraternal qualities that they inspired in the elites of Wizarding Britain but most wizards were either home schooled or went to the much cheaper Saints schools and didn't care about these fraternities. The elites, the nobles, and the muggleborn were the only ones who would reliably fill the rosters of Hogwarts; the first group either through money or connections, the second through hereditary right, and the third through scholarships and integration laws. They were the only ones who cared about what fraternity they came from. The rest of wizarding society had to make do with what they had and ignored the eccentricities of their social superiors.

"For your crimes in knowingly supporting Dark wizards this village will be punished." The finality of the words sent chills through Sean Daley's body and the moans of terror from the villagers began to climb towards a fever pitch.

Suddenly at a wave of the man's wand the orbs of light that had been floating around the crowd burst and lines of energy sizzled out and formed a cage of flames in which the crowd began to wail in terror. The dark clothed figures proceeded to set the village on fire and soon the brick and mortar walls were stained with soot as the wooden frames cheerfully burned in the night. The shrieks of load bearing timbers pierced the night and the crash of collapsing buildings overwhelmed the screams of the villagers.

"I should thank you Mayor, for the ledgers in your storehouse. It certainly simplified our need to inventory the goods we are confiscating from your Death Eater master. And so you are aware, we also found that batch of Morgana's Tears you had prepared. It is a true pity that the courier you sent it off with attacked one of my men." With that pithy comment the man tossed a scrap of blue cotton embroidered with a white, blood stained rose at Daley's feet and began to walk off.

"You insufferable bastard!" Daley cried as he struggled against his bonds. As he struggled he noticed that the ground beneath his feet crunched.

"Dirt doesn't crunch." he thought

He looked down and saw that he was standing in a pile of wood shavings and sticks piled up around his feet and legs. With a look of horror he looked up and against the backdrop of the flaming cage he only saw the silhouette of the man still shrouded in his dark clothing. None of the features of his face were visible in the shadows cast by the light as he raised his wand.

"_Tabescet Caro._"

Suddenly a horrendous burning sensation rippled through Daley's body. As he began screaming the villagers looked on with horror as their erstwhile Mayor began to glow with an inner fire. As his skin began to slough off his body little gouts of fire began to pour out of him igniting the kindling at his feet. The Mayor's impressive belly began to drip as he began to roast in his own fat, the grease feeding the fire at his feet.

As the Mayor burned up from the inside out, the flames at his feet illuminated the shadowed man before him for the briefest of seconds before his eyes melted away. The cold cobalt blue eyes of a red-headed demon were the last image to run through his head as Death finally claimed him.

As the man turned around and began to stride away a five year old girl with her black hair done up in pigtails and her summer yellow dress stained with tears and dirt cried out to him.

"Why, sir? Why are you doing this to us?"

He stopped and turned, his features hidden by the shadows of the night save for a lock of copper which slipped from his hood glowing in the light of the fire.

"You do not ask why a plague spreads or a field burns." He replied. And with a flick of his wand the cage around the villagers began to slowly contract.

As their screams for mercy began to mingle with screams of anguish the dark figure and his fellows began to file out of the village, levitating several carts full of plunder behind them. As the smell of roasted pork mixed with the soot and ashes polluting the summer night's air he muttered one final reply to the girl who was almost certainly dead. His voice shadowed with bitter hate and laced with emotion it almost breaks with the amount of feeling he puts into it.

"Do not ask why I fight."

And with these words Ronald Weasley activated his portkey and left the smoldering embers of Twelve Pins village behind him.

**AN: Probably not what you were expecting as an introduction for one of fandom's biggest characters. Just so you are tracking this fic will not be a bash fest as there are too many of those out there already. My intent is to paint a comprehensive picture of the very human motivations that go into fighting a war and the toll that it can take. This will be considerably darker and grittier than canon. Please review.**

_**Tabescet Caro**_**- Melt the Flesh**


	4. Claiming the Title

**AN: I don't own Harry Potter or any other trademarked material. I hope you enjoy but just as a warning some of the things described in this chapter may be a bit disturbing to the faint of heart. Please review.**

"… _and furthermore let it be resolved that the Witing of the Kalmar Union does decree that a state of emergency be declared in the Dovrefjell march. The unrest in the Giant tribes can no longer be contained by the Marcher Lord Thorkild Sigulfson as foreign agents have conspired with the tribes in aid of this insurrection. To this end the Witing establishes a bounty of 150 galleons for every Giant bearing arms slain in the Dovrefjell march proof being the delivery of their head and providing a Pensive memory. A further 600 galleon bounty is offered for every foreign provocateur taken alive and delivered to the Witing for Royal justice."_

_-Presented in the names of the Royal Houses to the Magical Persons of the Realm, 5 February 2001_

_King Karl XVI Gustaf, King of the Swedes_

_Queen Margrethe II, Queen of the Danes _

_King Harald V, King of the Norse, Senior Lord of the Union_

As Harry awoke he found himself propped up against the broken stone rubble along the edge of the courtyard. While he felt the chill of the grass against his skin his clothing was haphazardly draped over his body giving him at least a semblance of warmth and modesty. Gingerly he sat up and tried to work a crick out of his neck as the first rays of the sun began to spill over the ramparts of the ruins surrounding him. He tentatively prodded the spot where Luna had stabbed him and found no pain but just another light scar across his chest. As he began to dress he noticed that Luna was curled up in a small nest that she made from their traveling packs and was snoring softly, her hair a tangled mess of blonde strands scattered across her elfin features. Harry looked at what he took to be pile of rubble about ten feet beyond her and was surprised to see that the pile was a man wearing clothing that made him look positively medieval even when taking in the tastes of wizards. Harry then noted how the man was bound up in conjured ropes and that what appeared to be his personal effects and staff were sequestered several feet away from him.

Harry scratched his head in confusion at the sight; he vaguely remembered the ritual although his only real points of emphasis from the whole ordeal focused mainly on the fact that Luna had been naked, he distinctly remembered that to his pleasure. That and the fact that he had been stabbed which did not elicit those same feelings of satisfaction. The appearance of a third party was not part of the movie reel running through his head.

Harry guessed that Luna had stunned and bound him, whoever he was in the aftermath of the ritual; maybe he was one of the hunters on their trail but he hadn't the faintest clue which side had sent him. She did look knackered; if she had to fight after doing that ceremony it was bound to have drained her pretty badly. As he sat down next to her on the soft ground he mused on the series of unfortunate events that had brought them to this point.

It had been three and a half years since Hogwarts had been sacked by an angry mob. At the time Harry had been on holiday with Hermione and Ron at Grimmauld Place even though the dreary house still elicited pangs of guilt and remorse over the death of Sirius. Suddenly in the wake of the events tearing Wizarding Britain apart Harry found himself in a state of protective custody by the Order. While practically a prisoner in the Fidelus protected house Harry was exposed first hand to the inner workings of the Order of the Phoenix at war.

Harry had grown up, frankly, in awe at Headmaster Albus Dumbledore and had considered him the greatest example of both a wizard and as a man; Albus Dumbledore could do no wrong. But as the months wore on and as Harry listened more and more to the reports that various members of the Order brought in the more confused and troubled Harry became. For every report of a raid against a Death Eater there was another report of a strike against "reactionary Ministry elements." Even though Harry knew that Voldemort's followers had overtaken large portions of the ministry Harry was stunned at the sheer number of non-Death Eater related raids. When he asked Dumbledore about this he was told that the Death Eater infiltration was much greater than anticipated and that the Ministry had been forced to declare the Order an illegal group of vigilantes and that the Aurors were being manipulated to fight the Order rather than the Death Eaters.

At the time Harry hadn't seen any Order members that he knew to be Aurors; Kingsley Shacklebolt seemed to have disappeared from the face of the Earth and Tonks was only vaguely mentioned in the occasional report, usually in the role of a spy so she could use her Metamorphagus talents. Harry figured that if the Order had been declared illegal the few Aurors who were also members of the Order had to keep a low profile in the Death Eater controlled administration and couldn't act openly.

Harry had protested and asked for permission to go out and help fight since clearly things were getting desperate on the outside. Dumbledore calmly stated that this wasn't possible since Harry wasn't prepared enough; Harry, Hermione, and Ron had been constantly practicing in Grimmauld Place often under the tutelage of the older Order members but Dumbledore kept saying that Harry needed to be better prepared in order to fulfill the prophecy.

As the months turned into years the isolation started to take its toll on the Golden Trio. Harry became more and more zealous in his training, going so far as to begin to train with the Sword of Gryffindor using some of the more ancient fencing manuals that were kept in the Black home; as the news from the outside seemed to be a never ending litany of skirmishes and raids he began to dream of the day that he'd be released to bring the fight to Voldemort. Dumbledore kept him in the loop with all the information they knew about Voldemort and directed his training so that he'd be ready, but he always kept telling him that the time wasn't ready yet; the risk of having to fight innocent witches and wizards caught up in the puppet ministry was simply too great and Harry needed to wait until Dumbledore could make things safe for him to act.

As time went on Harry overheard in the hushed conversations of Order members that the world outside was going to pieces: the non-humans were rising up, Death Eaters openly controlled towns, the Order was being overwhelmed by the traitors running the Ministry, fear salted the daily bread served to the people and terror flavored their tea. With each whisper of the battle raged in the streets and in the fens of Britain Harry drew more and more isolated into the attic, his appropriated training room of choice. After a while it became easier for him to move completely to the attic, only occasionally leaving to listen to an Order meeting. His only correspondence was an occasional letter, screened of course, with Neville and Luna, who were the only two that tried to write to him in his isolation; and with Gringotts who handled all of his outside purchases. Gringotts had also sent him a small case containing the Potter and Black Family rings along with a copy of both his parents' and Sirius' wills on his seventeenth birthday, his only "present" as it were that he received. Harry barely glanced through the wills as they brought up too many bad memories to the surface but immediately put on the rings. When he first put them on he had hissed as the two suddenly came to life and fused themselves together creating a hybrid of the family crests although Harry could "force" the ring to display only one crest at a time if he put his mind to it.

Hermione originally took the virtual incarceration very poorly as she wasn't allowed to visit her parents. Eventually Dumbledore relented and allowed her to write letters on the condition that an Order member censored it in order to prevent anyone from getting any useful information from it in case of interception. After that small concession Hermione took to the isolation with vigor and began to delve deep into some of the more esoteric branches of magic, researching a way to help Harry defeat Voldemort. As time went on and more and more reports of atrocities against muggleborns filtered in she began to give off a feverish vibe; she'd spend days locked away in the library looking for hints of artifacts and rituals to help finish the war, neglecting even the bare minimum of personal hygiene. She devoured the literature and demanded that more and more tomes be brought to her so she could continue searching for the answer to their troubles. The only thing that she never neglected though was her letters to her parents. Even without receiving a reply she would carefully write letters of Homeric length every day, sometimes even two or three times a day which drove the censors mad.

Ron on the other hand didn't really care about the isolation as most of his family still frequented Grimmauld Place as they were part of the Order. Initially he griped and moaned, more out of principle than actual personal discomfort and often was lax in his training. That was at least until that fateful day of 12 September 2000 when a frantic floo call came in from the Burrow. Before anything more than the sounds of screams could be discerned from the call the floo was cut. Ron managed to bully his way onto the response team but the team didn't mobilize for more than an hour; they found that the Burrow had been completely cut off from the outside world and that anti-portkey and apparition wards had been erected around it. Finally Ron and the team managed to get through. When they returned two hours later Ron was a changed man. His demeanor was stone cold and he carried about him the air of barely restrained fury; the three other members of the team that went out to the Burrow refused to speak about what happened except to Dumbledore and despite Harry and Hermione's pleas Ron never told them what had taken place. After that day Ron was allowed to go out and fight against the Death Eaters a task which consumed him entirely; Harry's friendship with the red-head seemed to have evaporated in the wake of his new burning desire to kill Death Eaters. Harry never again saw anyone from the Weasley clan ever show up to Grimmauld Place and feared the worst. Even the floo connection to the Burrow didn't work anymore.

As Hermione disappeared farther and farther into her research and Ron became more and more obsessed with hunting down Death Eaters, Harry was left basically to his own devices. He trained constantly both magically and physically; he yearned to take his place on the battlefield and force an endgame in this endless war. Completely separated from the Muggle world he'd actually began to assemble a wardrobe "befitting a wizard" and the start of his own personal library. Despite his isolation he was still able to purchase goods, usually through Order intermediaries, through the black market or the few remaining enclaves of commerce in Wizarding Britain. Harry had been at least resigned to continue his training until Dumbledore told him that the time had finally come.

At least until Luna had shown up.

Luna had turned up the day before in a most unorthodox manner. Harry had been in the attic practicing his fencing when suddenly a rip in the air before him lit up the darkened room with a fiery blue light. Harry had raised the blade and his body was primed and ready to attack whatever stepped through; he managed to stop his thrust just enough to halt the steel tip against Luna's stomach. He gazed over at her still sleeping body and shook his head in wonder as he remembered their rather otherworldly conversation.

_********************************************************  
"Hello Harry." _

_Her face was utterly calm and her eyes seemed to see right through Harry and gaze into the depths of his soul. She looked a lot different since the last time they met, right before that fateful winter… She had grown in a physical sense as she definitely seemed to fill out her robe more than the waif of a girl that he had waved goodbye to almost four years ago. What struck him the most was her demeanor; the quirky curiosity of the girl he knew in Hogwarts seemed to have been replaced by a woman who had drunk deep from the font of knowledge and was privy to a whole manner of secrets that she was dying to tell._

"_Luna? "_

"_Oh Harry, where are your manners? You really must ask a woman first before just assuming that she'll let you skewer her on your sword."_

Harry's eyes bulged out of their sockets at her little flirtatious quip; this was not the Luna that he remembered even if it was delivered in the same self explanatory and deadpan manner that she spoke in school or in their infrequent letters to each other. Almost subconsciously his grip on the sword hilt tightened and his arm tensed in preparation to thrust forward.

"_I suppose you are wondering if I really am who I say I am as time and space have created a gap between me and your memory of me. I really should say something that would re-assure you before you ruin my robes. I am still grateful for your offer to assist me, not that I wasn't expecting it, because after all… 'You are Harry Potter.'"_

_Luna's emphasis on the last four words brought a rush of memories from the back of Harry's mind. Suddenly he remembered a strange little girl reading an upside down magazine with radish earrings; that same little girl speaking with an unusual wisdom and the almost comical indifference she paid to social conventions. He remembered his offer to help her at the end of the year and the casual way that she quelled his fears for her. With that he slowly lowered his sword and made a cautious step towards her._

"_What are you doing here? This house is warded, how did you get in here?"_

_The Cheshire grin that spread across her face was well seasoned with the sweet slyness of a girl who knew just a little too much._

"_Oh Harry, if I told you how I got here I would be telling you a secret that you aren't ready to hear. But as to the why…" with that her eyes swept over the room and took in the stark and isolated nature of his training/bed room. "Well I just figured that you wanted to finally leave this place and take a chance at achieving your destiny in this war. That and you've not had a proper birthday treat since you locked yourself away from the world which is a pity since we all need a little joy in our lives, if only occasionally."_

"_Dumbledore says that the time isn't right for me to strike against Voldemort."_

"_Why not? Don't you think that the fighting has gone on long enough? Don't you think that enough harm has been visited on this land?"_

"_He says that until the Ministry can be secured from Death Eater control I can't strike or else I would run the risk of harming innocents in the battle! What would happen if I had to duel a score of Aurors who had been duped into thinking I was a criminal like Sirius? I have to trust Dumbledore that he'll set things up so I won't run the risk of hurting innocents!"_

"_Oh Harry your concern for innocence is part of what makes you great but you have the same sweet naiveté that Daddy had before he passed on from this mortal realm. He too never saw things for what they were before the end. But your sweet silliness causes more harm than good. Here let me show you." _

_Harry was shocked at Luna's rather frank admission that her father was gone and more than a little peeved at her claim that his concern for innocent lives was misplaced. However his twinge of anger was replaced with a wave of panic as she suddenly crossed the distance between the two of them and grasped the sides of his head firmly in her surprisingly powerful hands and tilted his face until all he could see were her eyes. _

"_Please don't fight me Harry, but I have to show you."_

_Harry tried to struggle but his body didn't respond to his mind's commands. He thought he heard the clatter of a dropped piece of metal in the distance but he wasn't sure. All he could focus on was the intensity of her deep blue eyes and the sing-song tune of her voice._

_Suddenly he found himself wrapped in darkness. A void so deep that it lacked even the feeling of light and sound; without warning he felt a burning pain burst forth from inside his chest._

_He thought he screamed but he never heard it. Perhaps the pain was so much that it couldn't be expressed in words? Regardless Harry suddenly realized that he was no longer in darkness but was standing in a darkened alley in a nameless town. The colours were all wrong; instead of even the harsh contrast of shadows on stone one sees in blackened alleys, here everything was a series of contrasts of pale grays. It reminded Harry of a pensive memory but his musings were cut short by a flash of light at the end of the alley._

_As Harry turned he saw the scared face of a young boy; pale skin, dark hair, he didn't look a day over 12. As the boy ran towards Harry he saw that the boy was bleeding from a gash across his chest that was slowly soaking his shirt with a crimson stain. Harry realized that this vision was a world of black and white; and red. He could see red most clearly. _

_Harry instinctively moved towards the boy but his body refused to move. He was stuck as a witness to the scene before him from a single perspective and completely unable to influence it._

_As he watched Harry saw a dark figure appear at the end of the alley clad all in black with a hooded face swathed in darkness. Harry also saw the large knife being held loosely in the figure's right hand, bright crimson painting the blade and spilling down to the cobblestone alley. To his horror the figure swiftly advanced down the alley and grabbed the boy by the hair and jerked his head back swiftly cut the boy's throat, the arterial spray shot out and spattered out along the walls. With a barely audible, "Bloody filth." the figure turned around and stalked out of the alley as the body slowly stopped twitching…_

_With a flash and another pang of pain Harry suddenly found himself standing on a balcony overlooking what could only be Diagon Alley. The normal throngs of humanity were no longer there but there was still a significant amount of foot traffic as families traveled in packs from one shop to the next, furtively purchasing their goods and quickly moving on to the next shop. As Harry watched he saw one particular family of five that looked slightly richer than the rest, judging by the cut of their clothes, make their way down the street just like any other moving towards Gringotts. He watched as suddenly a group of four wizards and two witches suddenly apparated into the street and surrounded the family in question with wands out in the ready. _

_Harry watched as the bystanders in the street fled in terror as the family tried to huddle together; the father and mother standing as best as they could between the gang and the three children huddling together. Neither of them had their wands out. From Harry's perspective it looked like there was some sort of dialogue between the parents and the leader of the gang who had moved forward slightly from the rest. Without warning the gang leapt forward and seized the members of the family. In a matter of seconds the three children, all girls, were crying and huddled on the ground as the two witches stood over them with whips of fire cheerfully dancing from their wands. The mother and father were both forced to their knees by the wizards and Harry could tell that they were both screaming and begging with their assailants. To his horror, Harry saw that one of the wizards drew a small cudgel from beneath his robes and proceed to beat the wife as his colleagues forcibly restrained her husband. _

_Harry saw how the first blow laid out a gash over her left eyebrow, how the second sent her jaw at an unnatural angle, how the third crushed her pretty nose, how the fourth… how the fifth…_

_The man was weeping now and the children's howls of anguish tore into Harry's soul as he stood there, completely unable to do anything about it as the beating kept going on and on. As the woman lay on the ground covered in blood, her body limp and broken on the cobblestone street her assailant then turned to the man who at this point was an incoherent wreck simultaneously swearing vengeance and begging for his family's lives. Without preamble the man put away the cudgel and pulled out a revolver; the crack split the alley drowning out all other sounds and the father's body crumpled to the ground, a pulpy mass of blood and bone where his face once was. Harry saw the spurt of brain matter exit out from the back of his skull and the cloud of blood mist out from where a proud nose once claimed its place in the sun._

_The gang then apparated from the alley after one of the witches pinned a scrap of parchment onto the cloak of the dead man. The three children wailed in the street, alone with the bodies of their parents. All alone…_

_Flash. Harry stood in the woods and saw a pack of centaurs ride down and skewer a lone wizard on a particularly vicious looking spear; he tried to look away as they tore the screaming man apart but he couldn't. Each centaur rode off with a different piece of their kill as the tom-tom of drums sounded ominous in the distance…_

_Flash. Harry watched as a mob swarmed a pair of Aurors escorting a Ministry official through a village. The Aurors were broken and bloody, their wands broken in the press while the official was put under the Cruciatius curse, eliciting howls of delight from the mob…_

_Flash. Harry crouched in a cupboard with a small scared looking child as he heard roars and screams on the other side of the wood. In a sudden moment of silence all Harry could hear was the beating of his own heart. Suddenly the door swung open and a clawed hand reached in grabbing the child by the throat…_

_Flash. Now it was a naked and bloody corpse of a teenage girl lying in the gutter, her delicate flesh desecrated with "Pureblood Whore" carved into her torso, the "o" in the word "whore" being made by the bloody mass where her left breast used to be…_

_Flash. A house burning with screams of terror emanating from the top floor. Harry can see a tiny hand hitting against the glass…_

_Flash. A pack of dark figures mercilessly casting spells into a panicked crowd of goblins in Gringotts' lobby…_

_Flash. The weeping of an old man crouched over the body of an equally old lady. His face streaked with tears as a green flash…_

_With each flash Harry was forced to watch atrocity after atrocity. He saw a world of madness and chaos as all the old conventions of Wizarding Britain were set to fire and steel and an orgy of destruction grasped the collective psyche of the people. He saw the collected agony and madness of four years of civil war.  
_*************************************************  
Harry shuddered as he forced himself to relive the visions. It had seemed to go on for hours. When he "awoke" he had immediately puked and started to cry at the immensity of the horror going on outside of the walls of Grimmauld Place. Why hadn't Dumbledore told him what was happening? Why hadn't he tried to do something? Why had Harry allowed himself to be locked away in ignorance while the world fell apart? The crushing failure that Harry felt was only matched by his desire to redeem himself.

Harry had simply not imagined how horrible the war could be and how much it could twist the people involved in it. He had always imagined that it would be a series of quick and almost simple fights where wizards cast spells at each other and where you could always tell the good guys from the bad. He knew that there would be some sorts of crimes and atrocities but he never once thought that it would be done in such fashion; maybe the dementors would turn a muggle village into a crypt of corpses that didn't know that they were dead yet, or some Death Eaters would torture other wizards that opposed them. But what the visions showed him was of something much more terrible than that. Not one of the killers that he saw he could actually unequivocally say was a Death Eater; in fact the most violent killings seem to have been done by ordinary wizards and witches caught up in the war. He never imagined that crimes would be committed by anyone other than the Death Eaters and their purist allies.

Harry simply couldn't fathom the depth and physicality of the violence from a world based off of magic. It went against every expectation that he had; of the almost courtly civility and rather clinical means of doing harm in magical society. But despite his expectations the horrible realization of truth shattered his innocence. Violence is an immensely physical and intimate act; no matter how clinical it can be made humanity will devolve and exercise it in its most primitive forms.

After having his eyes rather forcefully opened by Luna as to the reality it wasn't a challenge to convince Harry to at least attempt to do something. Luna had explained to him a ritual that she had discovered that was supposed to boost his magical core; Harry hoped that it would be the trigger that would convince Dumbledore that he was ready to take on Voldemort and to end the war.

And yet despite having undergone the ritual Harry didn't feel any different.

"You're remembering again aren't you?"

Harry suddenly jerked as he was brought back to reality by the now awake Luna's question. She had now perched herself sitting on top of her pack. All traces of sleep and last night's efforts vanished from her face. Her eyes stared at him peeling back all of his secrets.

"It's kind of hard not to, you have a rather forceful way of showing people things you do know that?"

"You certainly needed the persuasion Harry; you can do so many great and wonderful things as long as you have that little nudge to get you going in the right direction."

"So what happened last night?"

"The ritual worked but I'm afraid that I panicked towards the end and caused a mishap. I was afraid that you would die and tried to speed up the process but…" her voice trailed off and she indicated towards the unconscious man, "I think I summoned him instead. I managed to get just enough magic into your core to keep you from dying but I don't think that it did much more than that."

She seemed almost apologetic with the admission that she almost killed him. Harry never realized how close he came to dying but supposed that it wasn't something that he really had time to dwell on at the moment.

"You said summoned? Summoned from where? Who is he?"

"A stranger from a faraway land. Shall we ask him?"

And with that she boldly stood up and strode over to their guest with wand in hand. Harry quickly stood up as well and began to make his way over as Luna cast an _Ennervate_…

The man's eyes shot open and he saw Luna standing over him. If anything his eyes got even bigger as a spark of terrible recognition seemed to glimmer in their brown depths.

"Foul demon!" he screamed, "What have you done?" And with that he rolled away over the grass from a fairly puzzled Luna and an almost astounded Harry. Harry felt the pulse of magic and saw a glowing white hue from the man's hands as suddenly his bonds fell away; the magic animating the ropes dissolving away into the ether as he scrambled up onto his feet and backed away, his attention solely on Luna. Harry had to admit it was an impressive display of wand less magic.

The man stood just shy of six feet tall, his shoulders broad and muscular underneath his slightly torn woolen tunic that reminded Harry of something from the Middle Ages. His narrow oval eyes a chestnut brown and filled with fear and hate; his black hair, cut close to his head, was unkempt and streaked with grease and dirt. His slightly gaunt face was covered in dirt and streaked with sweat; from where Harry stood it almost looked like his tanned skin was also shot through with soot, his right side definitely looked like it had been exposed to fire as it was red and angry. Harry could see the tone of the man's musculature as he clenched his fists and tensed to fling himself at Luna.

Without even a warning Harry pulled his wand and cast a mild banishing charm at the man with the intent to knock him away from Luna. To his astonishment the man hurled himself out of the way landing in a roll across the courtyard. As he stood back up he threw a chunk of stone at Harry who was forced to duck. Luna stood back observing the situation in her own inscrutable manner.

"A demon whore and her mortal slave; tell me slave, how is it that you fell so far as to make a pact with one such as she? She pretties you up well but you're still tied to an inhuman terror." With the man began to chant words that Harry had never heard of before; the man suddenly began to emanate light as a wave of magic washed over the courtyard and Harry's keen eyes noticed that the man's wounds and burns began to heal and disappear. Even his hair began to look more presentable. This command of magic impressed Harry as it was incredibly difficult for a wizard to use magic without some sort of foci like a wand; but this impressive display did nothing to dampen Harry's outrage at the insult this wizard had visited to his friend.

"She's neither a whore nor a demon; she's as human as I am! Who the hell are you to insult her and attack her?" With that Harry advanced towards the man his wand at the ready. The pent up frustration and anxiousness from four years of training began to rage up towards the surface as Harry moved forward to slap down this stranger who had insulted one of the few friends he had left in this world.

Luna on the other hand had somehow conjured up an apple and slowly began to munch on it as she looked at the pair of them square off; a look of polite interest on her face.

"Boy if you recall you're the one who cast on me first. Now tell me where am I and why have you stolen me away to here?"

"Boy" if there was ever a word to drive Harry out of the realm of reason and calm that was it. "Boy" was what his erstwhile "family" had called him while he spent all those years of degrading purgatory with them. "Boy" was the term used at the start of every insult, every menial task, and every degrading tirade.

The fact that the man across from him looked barely older than Harry hardly registered, not like it would have mattered.

With a wordless cry of rage Harry went on the offensive. He led with a string of blasting hexes interspaced with bludgeoning curses; even in his rage Harry kept true to his training style, his strengths were in pouring power into devastating attacks to hammer away at his opponents until either they were obliterated or Harry passed out from exhaustion.

The man leapt and dodged across the courtyard as Harry's spells chased him around. Stonework created shrapnel through the air and puffs of grass and dirt stained his clothes as he dodged and ran about avoiding Harry's attacks. To be fair Harry wasn't the fastest caster in the world and some of the dodges were with only an inch of lee-way but directed attacks were not the most successful method under the circumstances. It was apparent that his opponent was used to physical activity unlike many wizards that Harry knew; the times he dueled with the Order members that Dumbledore had picked out as his sparring partners footwork was more of an afterthought than a practiced discipline.

After a minute of this Harry began to let his frustration show and transfigured a lion out of a ruined stone bench which roared in anger and began to pace forward towards Harry's opponent. The early morning light seemed to create a halo of golden light around the tawny yellow mane of the beast as it stalked forward; the ripple of muscles underneath a sun beaten hide of light brown fur.

"Give it up, you may be able to dodge my spells like a prancing fairy but you can't dodge a lion."

With that statement the lion roared in defiance barring his teeth with the intent to cower the man into submission. Instead the man looked at the creature thoughtfully and stopped moving. Taking this as a sign of submission Harry slowly advanced forward; what happened next was a complete surprise.

Without warning the man pointed his finger towards the lion and hissed out a word that Harry did not discern. The beast then began to whimper as a dark nimbus of energy surrounded it; before Harry's eyes he saw the lion's muscles sag and shrivel, the teeth turned into chipped and blunt parodies of what they had been, and the once golden mane began to fall out. Harry could feel the weakness suffusing his conjured animal. With a look of pity the man walked over to the beast, reached out, and struck it across the nose with his fist. With a piteous moan the lion slumped over onto the ground; Harry could feel his magic flee as the lion returned into a pile of broken stone. The man then looked over towards Harry who stood there with his mouth twisted in surprise.

"I did not think that you were a proper practitioner of the arcane but you have demonstrated that you have some skill. What is your name so that I may drink to your memory?"

"Harry Potter." To say that the courtesy surprised Harry was an understatement and his response was more instinctive rather than deliberate. The moment almost turned into something of a ceremony with the sudden question. Harry paused and waited for the man to respond. Luna just sat on her pack humming a tune while she kept eating her apple.

"Harry Potter… that's it? It is strange that one as old and as skilled as you can claim no titles either inherited or earned. And with a family name as well…"

The man seemed genuinely confused. "Titles?" Harry thought, "What does he mean by titles? And how does he consider me 'old?'" Harry suddenly felt a tingling on his hand and remembered his family ring which seemed to fill his mind with exactly what he needed to say.

"I am the Baron Harry Potter-Black, called 'The Boy Who Lived.' Lord of House Potter by right of lineage and Lord of House Black by right of inheritance. I uncovered the Chamber of Secrets and slew the Basilisk resting at its heart. I have won the Tri-Wizard Cup. I have dueled the Dark Lord Voldemort and saw him flee. I am the wielder of Godric Gryffindor's sword. I now ask that you state your name so I know who I will defeat this morning."

The confidence that he exuded was almost a foreign feeling after years of abuse and neglect, gone was the grungy boy who lived in a cupboard. Here stood a titled lord who dressed and held himself to the standard of the peerage. Without even a hint of magic, the Sword of Gryffindor appeared in a well kept scabbard of black leather and capped with silver on Harry's side.

After that the man inclined his head in a gesture of respect.

"My Lord, I am Erik called Snotor, Sorcerer in service to Icatia and her Legions. I have stood in the shield wall with sword and axe at Iskandrun against the Brass-claw Chief Githri and cast him down in the earth, dyed red from the bodies at my feet. I took the head of Dalhgram of the Black Hand at Baelwfur Keep and broke his host upon the salt walls. I face you now lord in honorable combat for you have kidnapped me through vile magic either in conspiracy with or under the influence of a Demon. May the Heavens judge who is worthy."

Suddenly after the pleasantries of civilization were completed Erik let loose a brutal and savage scream into the morning that seemed to darken the sun and brought a chill to Harry's bones. A nimbus of darkness surrounded Erik in a fashion that reminded Harry of what surrounded his lion but instead of Erik getting weaker instead something else occurred. As Harry watched gauntlets arranged themselves from the nimbus and clad Erik's hands in a mixture of brown leather and metal rings scaled into them, sickly black leather seemed to flow out of his arms and formed itself into a protective layer as Erik's woolen tunic re-formed into a mail Habergeon which covered his shoulders to his thighs in small ringlets of iron. A large lime wood shield with an iron boss and edging merged from the void and strapped itself to his left arm; Harry mused that he could hide almost his entire body behind that enormous thing. In Erik's right hand a wicked looking axe with a wide thin blade almost ten inches long and a hooked horn at the heel of the blade and a small spike on the reverse where the metal head attached itself to the thick oaken handle.

At the sight of what can only be described as a Medieval Warrior standing before him Harry almost panicked but instead acted rationally and casted a blasting curse square into Erik's shield.

The blast hit square and threw Erik back as he cursed the force of Harry's attack. Harry strode forward confidently and raised his wand to continue his attack. Harry didn't want to kill Erik but he knew that his stunners wouldn't get through that shield; a more direct tactic was called for. As Harry gathered in his magic to cast another blasting curse he heard Erik spit out an invocation and a flash of red caught Harry's eye. Reddish white bands of energy formed and locked themselves around the wrists of both combatants but to Harry's curiosity the spell didn't seem to do anything else. Erik took up a defensive posture with his body covered by his shield and the blade of his axe held right up against the edge.

Realizing that he had the initiative returned to gathering in his magic to destroy Erik's shield; and screamed aloud in the process. The bonds around Harry's wrists began to flash and with each pulse he felt his magical core shudder in agony. Harry tried to fight through it but as he kept trying to draw upon his magic the more pain he felt. Finally Harry ceased his efforts and was visibly panting and wincing; the terrible realization was that if he kept trying to use his magic he might kill himself!

Harry looked up in panic as he saw the dire grin on Erik's face. Erik then began to pound his axe on his shield creating a foreboding sound of doom; his chant of: "You're going to die!" in time to the beat didn't make Harry any happier; the hollow thump of steel on wood underpinned by the rustle of chainmail sounded like a funeral dirge. Slowly, almost leisurely Erik advanced towards Harry who had almost desperately drawn his sword, realizing it was his only real defense if he couldn't use his magic.

With a grimace of defiance Harry began to pace forward, his sword held two handed in a high guard as he prepared to use his speed and agility to counter Erik's use of armor and shield. Harry also had an advantage as his sword's reach was much greater than Erik's axe. He would have to use all of his skills to win out in this. He glanced over towards Luna who seemed to be watching the pair of them like a spectator at a sporting event; she showed no inclination to step in between the two of them. In fact she seemed to be enjoying herself much to Harry's chagrin.

As they inched closer to each other Harry felt the cold clamminess of fear clutch at his belly. He'd never really had to face off against another human before in this sense. His escapade at the Ministry seemed so much like a childish game now played by poor actors in a bad movie. He licked his lips as he stepped forward, a true son of the House of Gryffindor, and brought his blade down onto Erik's shield.

The shock of the impact raced up his arms and he almost dropped his sword in surprise. Quickly he spun off to the side to avoid Erik's counter as he sliced his axe low towards Harry's knee. The two of them faced each other down as they both mustered the energy to strike again. This time Erik led with his shield trying to bowl Harry over, but because the shield also blocked Erik's view Harry managed to avoid the charge and swung his sword low and to the side catching Erik along his back on the left hand side. Harry grinned expecting that his opponent would be bleeding and wounded but his grinned died as Erik barely made a noise; Harry looked and saw that Erik's mail had stopped his swing cold as the interlocked rings had stopped his blade. This was not like the movies, Harry realized quickly. He simply couldn't bull his way through the other man's armour.

"Maybe if I get him in the legs," Harry mused, "it's only a thin layer of wool and he only has on leather boots. If I hamstring him I'll win." With this strategy in mind Harry began to chop high in order to get Erik to move his shield up and expose his feet. Harry's muscles began to ache with the effort and hoped that Erik was getting as tired as he was. Finally Erik had to move his left leg forward in order to prop his shield up high enough to protect his face from a vicious cut Harry aimed at his head.

With a shout of victory Harry quickly reversed his strike and brought his blade low and felt his blade make contact with Erik's left boot… only for his attack to be stopped cold. Harry stood there dumbfounded as he saw a thick band of steel gleaming through the cut he had made in the side of the boot. The next thing he knew the dark iron of the shield boss was speeding towards his face. He felt the crunch of his nose breaking underneath the blow; dazed he fell back onto the ground as he began to taste the iron tang of blood. The force of him slamming into the ground knocked the wind out of Harry and he began to cough and sputter as the blood tried to trickle down into his throat. He could feel at least one tooth was loose as he tried to spit up the blood in his mouth.

"Did you really think that I didn't know what you were trying to do lord? I have fought in the shield wall for almost 7 years and your show fighting might be fit for court but it means nothing where shields clash and men build a reputation. I hope you have heirs my lord for you are about to die."

With that statement Erik stalked forward tossing his shield to the side with a clatter as it bounced off of the rocks. With grim finality he gripped the axe with both hands and raised it high into the air as his foot pinned Harry's sword hand into the ground. Suddenly Erik jerked back and sputtered as an apple core bounced off his face covering his eyes in pulp and juice. Harry quickly spun out and tripped Erik who fell with a definitive "thunk" onto the grass, his axe landing a foot away from his outstretched fingers.

With the reflexes of a Seeker, Harry scrambled up and managed to bring his sword down and slammed the flat of the blade into Erik's forehead. As Erik cried out in pain and surprise it bought Harry enough time to turn his blade and press the tip over Erik's throat.

"Finish it lord; though the bitch interfered it was not at your doing or by your will, you merely took advantage of the situation. You fought honorably and I ask that you make it quick." Erik didn't flinch away from Harry's blade and looked him square in the eyes as he spoke.  
Harry stared down at the man and considered the situation for a long minute before speaking again.

"How did you stop me from using my magic?"

Looking surprised at the question Erik was slightly hesitant to answer.

"It was a spell my lord. An enchantment."

"Tell me how this enchantment works."

"Why should I tell you lord?"

"Because I will consider sparing your life if you do." That caused a moment of pondering on Erik's part.

"You would offer me a place in your house guard my lord?"

At this Harry paused. He was not raised to desire servants, much to one House Elf's sorrow, but that was before he put on the family ring. Now it was filling his mind with information of the prerogatives and indeed obligations of the nobility. Harry knew that as a lord he had an estate to run and protect, the fact that Wizarding Britain was also in a state of war didn't escape him either, and to protect his land he needed allies. He needed warriors who could fight. If he was going to take an active role in this war and claim his birthright he couldn't act as a lone wolf, he needed help. At this he carefully crafted his reply…  
"Erik called Snotor I am in need of warriors who will protect my lands and defeat my enemies. My foes are many and my allies are few. I cannot promise you safety, I cannot promise you peace. What I can promise you is a chance to prove your skills against the most dangerous of wizards that lay claim to the land and to build a reputation that will be sung about for a thousand years. Agree to fight for me and I will reward you."

With that Harry stood up and held his sword pointed down into the earth and clasped in his right hand. He didn't know why he did that, only his gut told him that it was the right thing to do. Erik picked himself up tentatively and knelt before Harry and placed both hands on the pommel of Harry's sword and over his right hand and as Harry placed his left hand down on top to seal the clasp. As their hands closed the bands of magic around their wrists disappeared into the void.

"I swear to you my lord to serve you in peace and in war. When you call I will answer. I shall carry your banner and I shall harvest your grain. I shall love what you love and I shall shun what you shun. Whatever small skills I know are my lord's to command. I serve until death or my lord releases me." As he spoke these words a spark of magic flared from the Potter/Black family ring and a tiny emerald "grew" on the side of it. When Erik kissed the ring the emerald pulsed once in a vibrant hue and then settled down as a permanent part of the golden ring.

As Erik stood up Luna glided on over and stood behind Harry off to his side with the apple core in her hand. As she approached Erik started to glower and even started to subconsciously growl at her. Harry decided to nip this problem in the bud if he could.

"Erik, as my man you will not openly quarrel with Luna. If you have a problem with her keep it to yourself or bring it to me when we are alone. Treat her with civility." Harry tried to make himself sound like a lord but it was odd giving an order to a man who just a few minutes before was trying his level best to kill him, and almost succeeded.

Erik visibly grimaced at the order but drew himself in and asked a question.

"Is this… Luna… my lord's woman?"

Harry was taken aback by the question and his eyes quickly darted over at Luna who serenely stared at him with an unfathomable gaze. He could feel a small blush try to creep up into his cheeks as he formulated a response. Harry did find Luna attractive in a whole range of traits but right now with a war to fight he didn't think it was a good time to have any sort of attachments.

"Luna is no man's woman although any man would be lucky to be hers."

Erik seemed to relax by a fraction at this and Luna's eyes seemed to shimmer at his words.

"Aye my lord. What is your next move in this war you speak of?"

Harry pondered over his options; he didn't think that he could return to Grimmauld Place, not so much that he couldn't explain away leaving to Dumbledore but that he no longer believed that he could quietly wait in the shadows. Harry needed allies and he needed information. He needed a safe place to plan and operate from.

"Luna, do you know of a safe place that we can go to? I have to get information on what has been going on in this war and I need to know who the major players are. But for now we need to hide away."

"I know of a place, why don't you go over and collect all of our belongings while I create a portkey?"

As Harry walked off towards the packs Luna stood there with Erik. Quite casually she turned to face him and tossed the apple core in the air with an inscrutable look on her face.

"Such a simple thing to work its way into the fall of a man." And with that the apple core disappeared with a snap of Luna's fingers.

"Demon whore, only by the commands of my lord does such a hybrid abomination such as you survive in my presence." Erik strived to maintain himself in the presence of this otherworldly creature. He could smell the stench of the nether all over her and it put him on edge.

At that comment Luna inched closer to Erik until her face was only inches away from hers. He calmly glared down at her but she held his gaze with hers while she whispered:

"You are only half right in your summation and earn your title Erik Snotor, a clever man indeed. But you mistake yourself in believing that I am the one that survives by your lord's command. Rather it is you." And with that last comment Luna turned around and walked away. With a snap of her fingers Erik's conjured armour and weapons disappeared into the ether leaving him in his woolen clothes staring with loathing at her retreating figure.


End file.
